


To All The Boys I've Boned Before

by Anonymous



Category: Letterkenny (TV)
Genre: Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, polyamory in theory but not in practice, the serious and introspective Roald-centric fic we've all been waiting for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-22
Updated: 2018-09-22
Packaged: 2019-07-15 10:10:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16060928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: "I didn't really think there were other gay guys in Letterkenny.""You wouldn't be surprised."Roald isn't exactly the hottest ticket in Letterkenny, but hey, he gets around alright.





	To All The Boys I've Boned Before

**Author's Note:**

> This is the serious and introspective fic focused on a joke side character that this fandom deserves. That Roald deserves. Because he's worth it. And I love him.

"You wanna... mess around?"

Roald glanced up from his trig homework, wholly alarmed. "Huh?"

Stewart had his textbook laid out on his bed but his attention was fixed on Roald, still lounging on the floor. It was late, and they all had tests in the morning that for some reason they'd decided to care about for once. Devon had left an hour before, citing exhaustion and frustration and that he'd just "take the fucking F, _jesus._ " Math was not their forte.

"Mess around. Fool around. Whatever the kids call it." Stewart casually brushed some greasy strands hair out of his face like it wasn't a big deal, but he wouldn't meet Roald's eyes.

"We kinda are 'the kids.'" Roald pointed out, voice shaking even as he did so. Did Stewart _know?_ Did _both of them_  know? He'd thought he'd been doing so well; pointedly not looking for more than two seconds at the jocks and more popular punks they passed in the hallways, laughing and agreeing with every comment about every girl every other guy made, consciously pitching his inflections down, he hadn't missed _anything._

Roald's heart rate picked up. What if Stewart knew how he felt about _him_  specifically? The foolishly unchecked gazes at how his long hair fell into his eyes? Laughing too loud at his bad jokes just to see him smile in self-satisfaction? Holding onto Stewart's arm for just a second too long because it felt nice under his baggy sleeve? Was this some kind of cruel joke at Roald's expense?

Scoffing, Stewart tossed his book onto a pile of clothes somewhere and leaned back moodily in bed. "If... if you didn't want to, you could just say so. You don't have to freak out."

"I'm not freaking out!" Roald nearly shrieked.

"You're freaking out. Just forget I said anything."

"I," Roald stumbled up to his knees, clinging to the edge of the bed and staring over at Stewart. If he was serious... "I don't want to forget you said anything."

Stewart looked back at him, mouth set in a nervous line. "So..." He coughed, cleared his throat to stop it cracking. "So come over here."

Roald scrambled over the edge of the bed, making a beeline straight for Stewart's lap. He crawled over him and settled his knees on either side of Stewart's hips as easily as if he'd been thinking about doing exactly that for ages. (Roald hoped it wasn't as obvious as it felt.)

Stewart was staring up at him with a nearly unreadable expression. Roald was pretty sure it was surprise. "You... look good." Stewart said.

"Y-yeah?"

"Yeah."

Stewart didn't kiss him; that was a line he was pretty sure they were both terrified to cross. But afterwards as they were both exhausted and panting, he let Roald lay half on top of him, laid a gentle hand in his hair and combed out his dirty mop of curls with his fingers. It was nice. As far as first times went, not too bad at all.

At least until Stewart stopped talking to him the next day at school.

Roald would be lying if he said his heart didn't skip a beat when he saw Stewart leaning up against their usual spot on the wall behind the gym, laughing while Devon showed him some video on his phone. He jogged up to them. "H-hey, guys." Maybe they'd think the helpless breathlessness was on account of the jogging. "Whatcha watching?"

"Youtube poop," Devon said, pocketing his phone and offering Roald a sharp toothed smirk. "I'll show you at lunch."

"Cool," Roald said. He could feel Stewart staring at him out of the corner of his eye. He turned and smiled at him, trying to not appear too hopeful. "Hey Stewart."

"Mm." Stewart grunted in greeting, eyes immediately averting to somewhere just to Roald's left. Roald opened his mouth, didn't know what to say, and let it hang there.

Devon glanced between them, shifting his bag awkwardly on his shoulder. "Right. Well, I have to go. I get another tardy and they call my mom."

Stewart raised his head and called after Devon's retreating back, "Yeah, go tell Mrs. Klein how much more you know about Jane Austen than her."

They both watched Devon raise a single finger salute in response before turning the corner.

Roald turned to Stewart, emboldened, "D'you wanna walk to class togeth-" Stewart already had his bag on, walking briskly in the other direction without a word.

...Maybe he hadn't heard him. Yeah, right.

The rest of the morning progressed in pretty much the same way. All questions were met with grunts or one word answers, and Stewart wouldn't even look him in the face, directing all his interactions at Devon. Up until that point, Roald had never felt worse in his stupid life.

They were out smoking behind the gym after school when Devon snapped after Stewart's millionth non-committal grunt of the day.

"I leave you two alone for one fucking night and you have some stupid fight?" He gestured between them, "It can't be that bad. Grow up, Stewart."

Stewart tried to protest, but Devon waved him off, too stoned to want to hear it.

The next day, Stewart awkwardly shuffled up to Roald, asking for help with an art project. Stewart didn't need help in art, but knew Roald liked it, and Roald knew to take an olive branch when he saw it.

And if they were elbow deep in cheaply dyed fake feathers, and Stewart stopped for a second to reach up and carefully pull some of the neon fluff from Roald's hair, and Roald's breath caught in his throat, he didn't have to dwell on it. They'd be fine.

(The guilt never went away, though.)

 

Fucking. Stupid.

 _So_  fucking stupid. Roald kicked the curb in anger, hurt his stupid foot, and sat down hard on the pavement. He was too tired to try and stop the flow of tears streaming down his face.

He'd come out to his friends a couple of months ago. The reaction was pretty much what he expected: some murmured "we knew"s and platitudes of total support. Some promises to fuck up anybody who messed with Roald because of it, even though Roald knew none of them had the muscle to back it up, but the sentiment was sweet anyway. It felt really good to have someone who cared about him.

Which was why he'd wanted to come out to his parents a few days ago.

("That's the most insane, irrational idea you've ever had in your life." Stewart had said, ever melodramatic.

"It's definitely up there." Devon, ever realistic, had agreed.)

But, optimistic and naive, Roald thought maybe it wouldn't be so bad. His parents loved him. They'd put up with the flagging grades, the unsavory friend group, finding what they (thankfully) thought was just a pipe for weed - something as inconsequential as who he actually was shouldn't have been the dealbreaker, right?

Roald was so fucking stupid.

Both Devon and Stewart had offered their places to crash if things went tits up (and they did), but Roald knew Devon's homelife. A tiny apartment and strict, controlling parents who would never let some twitchy, unwashed homosexual into their home to further distract their son from the life they'd picked out for him. Stewart, however, had stopped taking his meds, dropped out of senior year, and starting doing hard drugs. Stewart's mom couldn't have cared less, so Roald had packed his one bag and moved into his spacious basement. What else could he do? He was a legal adult now - as on his own as he could be. And he was fine with that. Really.

Roald had just found himself in his current situation, crying pathetically on a curb, because he'd tried to go back to grab some more of his things. It was late at night so his parents were probably asleep, he reasoned, he'd just let himself in, grab his shit, and abscond as Stewart would say. It was just that his house key didn't work anymore. They'd changed the locks just days after kicking him out.

His _stuff_  was in there. His games, his clothes, his schoolwork, his sketchbooks and pencils and watercolors and brushes... He'd halfheartedly checked the garbage, but it'd already been taken away. It wasn't fair.

A light suddenly lit up the pavement around him. A side door to the building beside him had clicked open.

  
"Now who on earth is- oh, hello there, buttercup!" It was Glen, the familiar preacher of the church Roald had just so happened to collapse in front of. Just his luck. "There's a face I haven't had the pleasure of seeing in my congregation in a hot minute! Roald, isn't it?" Glen approached and Roald turned his face away. The forced cheerfulness and the reminder of the agonizing sermons his parents used to drag him to weren't really what he needed right then.

"G-go away."

"Aw, now, what is such a pretty face doin' lookin' so sad?" The forced cheerfulness was now forced concern, sticky sweet and overbearing. Roald tried ignoring him, but Glen pressed on, "You know there's no grievance so great that God can't fix it." He was next to Roald now, crouching and placing a too-warm hand on Roald's upper thigh. "It's cold out here, Roald- we can go inside and pray to Him together, for Him to turn that frown upside down!"

Roald had a hard time not flinching away from the touch, but he thought back to the rumors and open secrets everyone knew about their local preacher. Glen wasn't _crazy_  older than him, he thought. And he was nice enough. And it was pretty cold.

Sniffing and wiping the tears and snot from his face, Roald nodded and turned to look at him, trying to control the squeaking in his voice. "I, I think I need Jesus."

"Now _that's_ the spirit! The Holy Spirit, that is!"

Roald did end up on his knees and crying out to God that night, but maybe not in the way a more pious holy man would have approved of.

To his credit, Glen offered to drive Roald back to Stewart's house later on, but Roald turned him down. He'd rather walk, and he could already feel the tendrils of creeping sadness and regret digging into his satisfied afterglow. Every step down the street sent a jolt of pain shooting up his spine, but man, it probably beat that awkward car ride.

 

Against all odds, Roald and Devon ended up graduating. Barely scraping by, no honors there, but graduated and done with their mandatory education. Devon, of course, immediately moved out of his parent's apartment and into Stewart's basement with Roald. It was pretty nice, actually, all living there together. Roald could game and paint and do whatever he wanted when he wasn't making drug deals behind the high school he'd just graduated from, Devon let Roald have the couch more often than not, and for all his mood swings and bad days Stewart was still the same dramatic, calculating Stewart Roald had grown up admiring for so long.

Sometimes, they'd share the basement with two other dropouts Stewart had befriended while Devon and Roald had tried to finish school. Connor was big and didn't do much beside look intimidating and do vape tricks, and Darien was scrawny and spacey and stoned out of his mind half the time. But whatever, who wasn't. They were cool and didn't give Roald shit and he found himself liking them more and more as they spent time together in that dirty basement.

Isolated in a studying frenzy with him for so long, Roald had been spending more one-on-one time with Devon, too. Devon, Roald was quickly relearning, was super smart. They both still did garbage on tests and couldn't do math if their lives depended on it, but Devon had such a passion for learning and talking about learning that Roald had a hard time keeping up. He felt kind of dumb in comparison.

"You're not dumb," Devon had said, when Roald had jokingly voiced his concerns, "This isn't shit you need to know to survive even a little bit. You could go your whole life without knowing everything about every nihilist philosopher or quoting Shakespeare from heart. You're smart in other ways, like you can draw and stuff. Don't fucking worry about it."

Roald took Devon's reassurances to heart, and cheerfully listened when he got on a particularly impassioned tear, usually after taking some of Stewart's latest batches.

Devon and Stewart had gotten into a pretty serious debate, one night. Roald had just come back from meeting some kids to do a pot deal and instantly spend the money on some gus'n'bru, when Stewart came barreling up the stairs past him, looking exasperated and incensed. Cautiously Roald descended the rest of the way into the basement to find Devon alone, tapping sullenly at a game on his GBA.

"Um," Roald started, catching Devon's attention, "What's wrong with Stewart?"

"Pff," Devon scoffed, turning off his game and reaching out for the bottle in Roald's hand, "I told him his favorite author is a hack."

Roald handed it over and plopped down next to Devon on the busted couch. "Oh! Uh, why?"

"'Cause it's true." Devon explained plainly, and wrapped his mouth around the bottle, chugging deeply before handing it back over to Roald, who definitely hadn't been intently watching Devon's adam's apple bob with each deep gulp.

He took the bottle and drank deeply himself. When he looked back down, Devon was staring at him. Roald felt himself get a little twitchy under the icy blue gaze, like he always did when Devon looked at him like that. It was happening more often lately. "Why's he a hack?" He laughed, trying to distract from the weird, paranoid feeling gathering in his gut.

Devon just shrugged, taking the bottle and finally looking away. "He's a lonely, stupid virgin who just cries about how much it sucks to be a lonely, stupid virgin. There's no nuance." Devon threw his hands up in the vehement way he usually did when he was about to go on a rant. "Write anything else! Join the fucking club! We're all lonely, stupid virgins!"

It didn't look like Devon was going to drink any more of the booze, so Roald grabbed it back, taking another swig. Maybe the drink was getting to him faster than he thought, but he piped up, "Not all of us."

That stopped Devon's ranting on a dime. "What?"

"I mean, I am pretty stupid, but..."

"I fucking _told_  you, you're not fucking stupid, but, what? You... y'know?"

Roald shrugged, suddenly regretting everything he'd ever said. Maybe in his whole life. "Yeah?"

Devon sat back. Reached out and took the bottle from Roald, then took a drink. "I didn't... really think there were other gay guys in Letterkenny."

"You wouldn't be surprised," Roald giggled. Mostly self-consciously.

They let that simmer for a while, the bottle changing no hands for the duration. Devon sat up then, posture as straight as Roald had seen it that night. "I'm kind of jealous."

"Eugh," Roald made a face, fiddling with the end of his sleeve as he remembered that night on the curb. "Don't be. It wasn't, like, an enviable experience."

"That wasn't what I meant." Devon said, voice low. Roald stopped fidgeting. He could only stare at the full ashtray on the coffee table, as he saw the bottle of gus'n'bru be set down carefully next to it. Devon was in his periphery, too blurry to really make out.

"Umm," Roald laughed nervously, "What?"

"You're not stupid." Devon said. Roald could feel one of Devon's arms next to him shift. Move closer, then behind him. A large, cool hand splayed out over his lower back. "Figure it out."

Roald swallowed thickly, forced himself to look up at Devon and found him a lot closer than he had been, icy gaze just as intense. "Uh, I think... I think I need it spelled out for me."

Devon smirked at him, an expression that would be insufferable on almost anybody else. He brought his free hand up to stroke his fingers through Roald's unkempt stubble before gently cupping his chin. "I can express no kinder sign of love, than this kind kiss."

"Hah, _what?_ " Roald laughed out loud in the middle of Devon moving closer. He leaned back, affronted.

"It's Shakespeare!"

"You would." Roald giggled, nearly hysterical.

Devon fought it, but the grin stretching across his face won out. "Yeah, sure. Shut up." He leaned in and kissed Roald mid-giggle.

As far as first kisses went, not too bad at all.

 

Being with Devon was pretty cool, mostly in that he could say he was _with_  someone. Devon was sweet. He saved most of the affection for when no one else was around, but if Roald rested his chin on his shoulder while watching him play video games, or leaned back against him while listening to Stewart explain something, Devon didn't push him away. Sometimes he even leaned into the touch in turn.

So it wasn't much of a surprise when he sat down next to Roald one day and announced, "By the way, Stewart knows."

Roald's stomach swooped. "Huh?"

"Stewart knows about us, that we're hooking up." Devon said, casually packing a bowl. He looked over at Roald, probably noting his panicked expression. "He's fine with it. You know, as fine as Stewart can be about anything."

That wasn't exactly the source of Roald's anxiety, but the feeling quelled nonetheless. "Are we hooking up?" He asked, changing the subject. They'd only really made out a bunch and done some heavy petting. Devon was taking it slow, for some reason. Roald figured he was just a romantic. (He was right.)

Devon flicked his lighter on and off, like he was going to light the bowl but not moving. "Do you, uh, want to be?" Flik, flik. "If you're ready."

Roald snatched the lighter out of Devon's fingers, flinging it across the room. He quickly climbed over Devon, caging him against the back of the couch. He sat down purposefully in his lap. "I've _been_ ready, Devon."

There was a moment where Devon could only stare up at him, startled into silence, before he moved very suddenly to kiss Roald, tip him over and press him back against the length of the couch.

Roald was starting to think he was never going to get fucked on an actual bed, and that was okay with him.

 

It was a hot summer day in the basement when Devon and Roald finished up a round of 'oh-fuck-Stewart's-asleep-and-everyone-else-is-out' fucking. Those instances were becoming few and far between since Stewart had started doing more and more business out of the basement.

"Okay, that's it, it's too fucking hot." Devon complained, leaning up against the foot of the couch. Roald grinned, breathless and happy, laying down on top of him and getting comfortable on his cool, bare chest despite his whining. "Roald, stooop. You're like a heater."

"And you're like a big ice pack." Roald countered, unmoving. Devon didn't push him off, instead reaching up to rub a big cold hand up and down his back soothingly. Upstairs, they could hear movement, then the water turning on. Stewart, probably taking a cold shower to relieve this heat wave.

"...Hey, Roald." Devon muttered.

"Hmmm?"

"You like Stewart, don't you?"

Roald's breath caught and he held it. Similarly, Devon's hand stilled on the small of his back. Roald pushed himself up onto his hands, staring wide-eyed at Devon, who looked way too calm for a question like that.

"Don't be mad." He squeaked.

"I'm not mad." Devon raised his pale eyebrows like that would prove it. "Am I right?"

Letting out a breath, Roald fell back down to hide his face in Devon's neck. "Yeah. I'm sorry." He sighed, "But I still like _you_. I still want to be with _you_."

Devon breathed out a laugh, hand resuming its movements up and down Roald's back and shoulders. "That's good fucking news, I still want to be with you too." He paused. "Stewart's hot, though."

Roald had to laugh. He couldn't believe this was a conversation they were having right after boning down. _You, too?_ He wanted to ask. Instead he said, "Stewart's pretty hot."

"He's pretty stupid, too."

"Stupid hot!"

Devon was laughing for real now, too, Roald bouncing on his chest. "You think he'd wanna date _two_  guys?"

"Diving right in the deep end. Why not?"

Their laughter subsided into giggles, and Roald felt strangely light. What a weight he hadn't even known he'd be carrying.

After a few moments of catching their breath, Devon piped up again. "Have you ever seen his dick?"

"It's enormous!"

"You could kill someone with that thing."

"That's how I want to go."

 

It was only a week or so later when Roald handed Stewart the bottle of pills he'd been looking for, and Stewart absently replied "Thank you, pet." Roald had looked wide-eyed at Devon, who was trying his best to hide a stupid grin behind his hand. What a jerk.

Another week later, Devon had that same stupid grin on his face when he presented Roald with a box from amazon. "Got a present for you, _pet_."

At first Roald laughed at the leather collar inside, obviously made for a human neck and with a shiny metal ring on the front.

But something warm fluttered in his gut when Devon pressed it around his neck, moving behind him to tie it firmly in place. He felt... well, cared for. Thought of. Protected.

"There. Looks good." Devon said, moving back in front of him and giving the metal ring a tug.

Roald's stomach swooped. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

 

Roald was tired of crying, tired of fighting, and tired of the manic state he'd been swept up into that made him think it was a good idea to call his stupid fucking parents and take out his frustrations on them.

Devon was gone, and nobody knew why. No note, no call, and left all his stuff in the basement. Stewart turned to him like he would have any idea better than anyone else, and that was the problem; he _should_  have known exactly where Devon went. Devon told him everything. Devon didn't do anything that wasn't in Roald's best interest. Devon loved him.

All the frantic texts Roald tried to send him weren't going through, and every "not received" message made the weight in his stomach heavier. Roald knew Devon's parents had still been paying his phone bill. He knew Devon's parents had been hounding him about his drug use, to come home, to clean up and go to college.

So he hadn't voiced the most likely scenario, because it was also the one Stewart wanted to hear the least: rehab.

Roald missed him more than anything, missed his smug smirks, missed hearing him read snippets from his books out loud, missed his cool fingers running down his arm and his broad palm pressing reassuringly against his back. But he clung to the hope that it was only rehab. That he'd come back and still want to be with him when he did.

And if Stewart wanted to forget that he ever existed, fine. Everyone dealt with the loss in their own way, even if it made Roald want to start crying again. But if Stewart wanted to spend all his time trying to dissect some faux-edgy prettygirl with a clown fetish who just waltzed in like she knew any of them, that was less fine.

So he got out. Driven out of the basement where he fucking lived, he escaped to the local bar whose most recent rechristening he was too drunk to remember. He was slumped into a booth in a dark corner where he was pretty sure the bar staff couldn't see him and had forgotten he was there. That was fine with him. He'd only just convinced Gale he was 100% not interested in women no matter how many strap-ons she had when she'd started with the 'I'll just watch then' shit.

He'd peeled all the label off his puppers when he felt like he needed to smoke. It was less a craving and more like a bone-deep restlessness - Roald felt like he was probably going crazy.

So he shrugged his backpack on and stepped out back into the sobering cold air, trying to light his dart in the wind. Flik, flik. The lighter was the same lighter he'd grabbed out of Devon's hands and flung across the room the first night they- Roald shoved it back into his pocket, cigarette lit.

"Hey." Roald had been so out of it, lost in his own thoughts, he hadn't heard the backdoor open and a small gaggle emerge from the bar. He looked up. He didn't recognize the men, looked like they were probably from upcountry.

"H-hey." He muttered, trying to go back to smoking and minding his own business. He was too drunk to deal with whatever they wanted.

"You selling?" The apparent leader nodded at him. Roald wondered who in the bar had told them that. He didn't really want to be doing business tonight, but he always had a little something on him. Might as well do something productive.

"I can hook you up." He said, throwing his dart down into a patch of snow. "What're you looking for?"

The leader looked him up and down. "You got pot?"

Roald snorted. All this for that? "Of course I got fucking _pot_." He scoffed.

"Hey!" The leader grabbed him by the front of his jacket, pulling him close and shaking him like a dog would a dead rabbit. "Are you fucking laughing at me?"

"No!" Roald squealed, suddenly much less cocky, "N-No, no, I would never!"

The man dropped him, pulled back and socked him in the face, shoving him into the wall. "Grab his bag and let's go."

Panic lanced through Roald as he was manhandled, bag ripped from his back. Less about the drugs - he'd barely had any on him to begin with - but his fucking game boy color was in there and _Devon had given him that_ \- "Hey-!"

The next few things happened in quick succession. The back door opened again, and it took the flannel-clad man exiting only a second to survey what was happened and promptly drop the leader like a sack of moldy potatoes with a hard fist to the face. His reputation preceded him, and the rest of the degens scattered, dragging their fallen leader along with them.

Of course it was Wayne. Well, actually it was two Waynes, by Roald's vision, but he surmised it was probably just the one Wayne and the wall had just hit him harder than he'd thought.

Wayne crouched next to Roald. His face was stern as usual and the backdoor light framed his head like a halo. A beefy, beefy angel.

"All right?" He asked.

"Huh?" Roald replied.

Wayne took Roald's chin between his thick fingers, twisted his head back and forth to see it better in the single light source. "You're all right." He concluded. "Just a bump on the head. Get some peas on that, probably won't even bruise."

"Okay," Roald gasped, "You saved me."

"Sure as shit did." Wayne confirmed. He stood up, pulling Roald with him and placing him on shaky feet. He must have stepped out for a dart too, since it was still perfectly resting between two of his fingers, unbothered by the scrap. "Awful unusual to see you without the rest of your pack."

"I can do things alone!" Roald said defensively.

"Sure can." Wayne said skeptically, looking up and down at his disheveled state. He handed Roald the unlit cigarette, pulling out another for himself.

They smoked in silence while Roald considered his current state, general existence, and felt sorry for himself.

1) He was still pretty drunk. That influenced all other decisions. 2) He was lonely and sad. He was super fucking lonely and sad. 3) Wayne was super hot and super nice.

Wayne finished his dart, tossing it into the snow, and moved to leave. Roald panicked, grabbed his huge arm in an act of sudden boldness. Wayne turned his head to stare at him and hear whatever it was Roald was going to say.

As it turned out, what Roald was going to say was, "Let me pay you back!"

Wayne raised an eyebrow.

Roald felt his resolve crumbling. "For, for helping me...!" He squeaked. To illustrate his point, he released Wayne long enough to reach down and grab at his belt.

Calmly, Wayne reached down and took his thin wrist in hand, lifted it up and away. "You're barking up the wrong tree, skid."

"Am I?" Roald tried.

"Think you'd be helping yourself more than me." Wayne commented, patted the back of his hand, and released him to open the backdoor. He looked back at Roald, then gestured inside with his head. "Don't forget your bag now."

Roald grabbed his snow-damp backpack, stumbling behind Wayne inside the building. He was tired, cold, and now his head hurt and his pride was bruised. Might as well piss before starting the long trek back to the basement to deal with whatever was waiting for him there.

At least until he bumped into another wall of flannel exiting the men's. Jesus, what was with these hicks? Roald looked up. Dary. Soft in all the ways Wayne was hard, and stupid in all the ways Wayne was smart.

"Hey, Roald!" Dary said, more cheerfully than he might've if he wasn't at least as drunk as Roald was.

Roald's glance darted around. Everyone nearby was busy with their drinks or each other. He looked back at Dary's smiling face, dialing up the charm. "Getting lucky much tonight?"

Dary's face fell a little. "That's a negative. Don't gotta be rude about it, Roald."

If Dary's reaction was any indication, the grin that spread across Roald's face was at least mildly terrifying. "Your luck's about to change, hick." He said, pushing against Dary's chest and shoving him back into the men's room.

Blowing a hick in a dirty bar restroom wasn't exactly the same as getting dicked down by someone you love, but hey, better than nothing, right?

 

"Will that be all for you, Roald?"

"Mmhm." Roald nodded quickly, shuffling through his jacket pockets for the crumpled up bills and loose coins to hand over to Bonnie. Maybe he was a little too wired to be doing the shopping, but Stewart had asked him to (and he was the only skid Bonnie didn't immediately try to chase out of the store) so who was he to refuse a late night errand? Special requests had included Kraft dinner, the fun shapes kind, for Connor, a big bag of Lays for Darien, and Stewart hadn't asked for anything in particular but Roald had grabbed him a candy bar last minute. Couldn't hurt.

Things hadn't quite yet gotten back to normal since the impromptu Easter parade, and Roald was half floating on cloud nine, half entrenched in his own bitterness. He'd remember Stewart looking at him after everything Roald had done for him, telling him he loved him, and his heart would soar. And then his high would be immediately crushed under the six inch heel of brutal, implicit rejection, only to be lifted up again by the memory of Stewart's clammy skin under his lips. Who even says something that romantic without meaning it? Stewart wasn't the _joking type._

Roald was starting to regret buying the candy and potentially rewarding messing with his feelings like that.

"Roald? Roald!" Bonnie snapped her perfectly painted nails in front of Roald's nose, and he snapped to attention. She was looking at him like he was crazy. Which, fair.

"Huh?"

"I said, do you want your receipt?"

Bags in hand, Roald stepped out into -6 winds. The snow was starting to fall again - wasn't this supposed to be springtime? Global warming was really wreaking havoc on their gentle planet. God, he wasn't looking forward to the dark, icy crawl back to Stewart's.

HONK

Roald shrieked, nearly flinging a shopping bag in self defense.

"Whoa, buddy!"

Roald calmed down, heart still racing. It was just hockey, all cozy in their covered jeep. Well except for Reilly, pocking his head out the driver's window and staring at him with concern, like he'd just frightened a small deer.

"'Sup, Roald?" He nodded his head at him.

Jonesy poked his head over Reilly's shoulder, smiling. "'Sup, Roald."

"Hockey." Roald greeted, cautiously.

Reilly glanced at Roald up and down, "Where's your bike, buddy?"

"It's... too icy for bikes." Roald stuttered, unused to this sudden attention and too unfocused to converse clearly. "I'm, walking. You know."

Jonesy piped up cheerfully, "We can give you a ride, buddy!"

Reilly grinned in turn, the cheer infectious, "Yeah, we can give you a ride, buddy!"

Roald blinked. Turned slightly, thumbing over his shoulder. "Oh, it's... just down a couple blocks."

Hockey blinked back at him. Reilly turned to Jonesy, voice a stage whisper, "I don't think he's gettin' it, buddy."

"Lemme try." Jonesy assured him, turning his attention back to Roald as he leaned further over Reilly. "I mean, we can give you a _ride, buddy_."

Roald's mind slowed down and sped up all at once. Oh. Oh! _Oh._ "Oh." Roald said, suddenly a lot warmer, "A _ride?_ "

"A ride." Hockey confirmed in unison.

Well, it was probably time for Roald to add a car to his repertoire of places-not-a-bed he'd gotten fucked.

Fortunately, the backseat of Reilly's jeep was pretty spacious, but less so with three sweaty dudes jammed back there. It was warm, though, and comfortable, and they were parked down a dark enough road that no one was gonna go check on the car with its engine running and rocking on its wheels.

Roald was going to be so fucking late getting the food back to the basement, but he was having a hard time caring when he was busy finally fulfilling certain doubleteaming fantasies. Maybe not with the parties he'd had in mind, but beggars and choosing and all that.

Besides, Reilly and Jonesy were sweet, and adorably stupid enough to like him, and best of all; good listeners.

"You could just, like... talk to him?" Reilly suggested, and Roald snorted from where he was buried face-first into long blonde hair, sprawled out on Reilly's broad chest.

"No, buddy, Stewart's like... so crazy. I mean- sorry, Roald." Jonesy said. He was currently cuddled up behind Roald, resting his chin on his shoulder. "But he is kinda nuts. Probably like, impossible to talk to."

"You're so right, bro, his feelings are probably so super closed off." Reilly agreed.

"It's that toxic masculinity, buddy."

"So toxic."

Roald stayed quiet, mostly fucked out but also gratified to hear someone else obsess over every detail of his (lack of a) relationship for a change.

Jonesy nudged Roald's cheek with his nose. "I think he likes you, bud."

"Yeah, he totally meant what he said."

"He's probably scared of his own feelings!"

"Yeah! A kiss is a huge step, dude." Reilly said seriously. Big words from a man who had literally been inside Roald like ten minutes ago. "You just gotta take it way slower."

Roald hummed in thought. What they were saying was a comfort he wasn't quite ready to let himself believe. "How slow are we talking?"

Jonesy briefly pressed his cheek to the side on Roald's shoulder. "Put your head on his shoulder!"

Reilly nodded in passionate agreement. "Or hold his hand- wait! Link your arms! Linking arms thing is less commitment, y'know. Less scary."

"It's true." Jonesy agreed.

Like true gentlemen, hockey dropped Roald and his groceries off right outside Stewart's house, only a full hour and fifteen minutes later.

"GOOD LUCK, BUDDY!" Jonesy shouted from the passenger side window as they drove off, with no concern for the hour.

Maybe Reilly and Jonesy weren't as dumb as they first came off.

(And speaking of come off, Darien kindly and covertly pointed out the dried jizz on Roald's jacket before Stewart could see it.)

 

"Roald."

Roald's head shot up from where he was trying to untangle some wires. He'd been starting to worry they hadn't brought enough extension cords to the reception, but now he was starting to think they maybe brought too many.

"Stewart?" He said eloquently. Stewart was leaning against the table where his mixing station had been set up, sullenly watching some of the wedding party trickle in. His hat was off, surely to be put back on once it was party time, but for now his hair fell oh-so Byronically in front of his face.

Stewart graced him with a quick glance. "Don't wander off during the reception."

"Okay..." Roald stood up, glancing between Stewart and where he was staring at seemingly no one in particular, "Why?"

"I fear some of the grooms' party may be of the... unsavory and uncouth variety."

No one Roald had seen so far stood out to him as particularly off-putting, but he wasn't in a position to disobey. "If you say so!" He chirped, kneeling back down to attack the wires again.

"I do say so." Stewart said firmly, "Don't go anywhere."

Roald hesitated. Paused. Glanced up to see Stewart still looking at him, bizarrely. "...Are you worried about me or something?" Roald asked, failing to fight the grin creeping across his face or the warmth creeping into his stomach.

Stewart scowled, whipping his head away and stabbing much harder than he had to at his mixing board buttons. "Or _something_." He muttered, then barked, "Hurry it up with those cords, the reception is about to begin."

The reception proceeded smoothly, aside from inane requests and Stewart refusing to play the playlist Roald had specifically been given to play. Nobody seemed to mind, even the grooms, and Roald obeyed Stewart's orders to stay by his side.

If he looked, Roald could see Reilly and Jonesy in the crowd sometimes, done up to out-of-character degrees of fanciness. Roald was starting to think maybe their advice was uneducated. Stewart had very much not been receptive to even the most sly laying of head upon his shoulder, and as many happy butterflies as Roald got just being around Stewart, the mixed signals were going to drive him crazy. At least the reception was nice.

The atmosphere of it had Roald feeling very tender; he'd never thought he was the marrying type, but then again, he'd never been to a gay wedding before. The idea had always just been too foreign for him to even conceptualize, but now here it was, plainly laid out in front of him and making all kinds of crazy ideas pop into his head.

He glanced over at Stewart. A slow song had finally appeared in the queue, and Stewart was gazing out at Dax and Ron's slow dance with a soft smile Roald hadn't seen since- well, since a similar expression had been directed at him last Easter.

Roald looked back out at the crowd, letting the same softness onto his face. It could be nice, he thought, to have someone who wanted to be with you forever like that. Or at least someone who was _capable_ of being with you forever like that. Roald's fingers found the metal hoop secured to his collar, tugged on it slightly and felt the pang of painful familiarity in his chest.

Maybe the sentimentality was showing too plainly on his face, because Roald was jolted out of his reprieve when Stewart swayed in his direction and lightly bumped their shoulders. It could have been unintentional; Stewart's face remain unchanged, facing forward. But Roald was operating on gut feeling.

Slowly, Roald reached blindly over and grasped the sleeve of Stewart's metallic blazer. When Stewart made no sign of shrugging him off, Roald slipped his hand through the crook of his arm. Stewart breathed out a laugh that could have been a scoff, and tilted his elbow outward to accommodate him.

For some reason, the butterflies were calmer when Roald leaned into him and Stewart didn't move away, remaining a solid foundation for Roald to cling to as they watched the guests sway out on the dance floor.  
Even when they were approached and handed shots, Stewart made no move to disentangle him, only separating when he moved to call the last dance and told Roald to begin packing up their set up, as Darien and Connor were well and truly out of commission after partaking of the open bar.

Roald went gladly, unable and unwilling to keep the smile from his face as he began gathering up the extension cords they hadn't needed after all. He was so caught up in his own head he didn't notice the approaching figures until their shadows fell on him in the dim lights.

"Hey, good looking."

"You look happy."

"Maybe we can make you even happier if you know what we mean."

Roald jumped, nearly dropping his tangle of cords. For all their dancing and partying, Dax and Ron didn't look tired at all. "What?" Roald tried, smiling and hoping the charm made up for his confusion.

"We got a six man afterparty happening tonight." Ron said, laying a hand on Dax's arm.

"Could make it a seven man if you're game." Dax said.

"You're just our type, bud."

"A real great river otter, sweetheart."

Roald was picking up maybe half of what they were laying down at hyper speed. "Oh, I- I couldn't possibly intrude?"

"Ain't no intrusion."

"Unless you _want_  an intrusion."

Dax held out his hand for a soft high five from Ron. Roald blinked, mouth open but no room to get a word in edgewise.

"Could get you a leash for that collar."

"You heel, puppy?"

"Gentlemen!" Roald squeaked at the sudden boom of Stewart's voice in his ear and his hands firmly planted on his shoulders. "Have some decorum, please." Stewart continued, and Roald didn't even have to look at him to know the strained smile that was probably stretched across his face. "Surely in your experienced wisdom you know a collar is a sign of... claimed territory."

Roald's breath hitched, but Dax and Ron seemed unperturbed. "You can come too." Dax said simply.

"Gerard Way was everyone's wet teen dream." Ron continued.

Stewart's smile grew wider. "I don't share."

The grooms shared a look. "Fair enough." Said Dax.

"Lucky catch, DJ." Said Ron.

They clapped Stewart and Roald on the shoulders in unison before walking off arm in arm.

"C-congratulations on your nuptials!" Roald called after them hesitantly.

Stewart tugged hard on the back of Roald's jacket, face darkening. "Wake Connor and Darien and get the equipment in the van."

"Sure." Roald breathed, too dazed to argue. He had no idea what just happened.

 

Connor was passed out by the time they got back to Stewart's, and dragging him down to the basement was a three man job. As soon as they heaved Connor's mass onto the couch, Darien flopped down on top of him like he was a mattress, joining in on his soft snoring almost instantly.

Roald surveyed the scene, hands on hips. "I guess we're on our own getting the stuff from the van."

"Leave it." Stewart said shortly, shedding his jacket and hat and moving to carefully hang them from a coat rack haphazardly shoved in a corner.

Roald watched him, anxiety mounting. "Stewart... are... are you mad?"

Stewart scoffed so loud it made Roald jump. "Mad? Why would I be _mad?_ "

"It- It just seems like Dax and Ron made you upset at the reception, is all."

" _Upset_." Stewart muttered, "Were they not paying me for my musical prowess..."

"So they did make you upset?" Roald prodded.

Finished with his clothes, Stewart turned pointedly towards the stairs. "I'm going to bed." He said simply, breezing past Roald like he wasn't even there.

"Stewart!" Roald yelled shrilly before he could stop himself, "Stop- stop _ignoring me!_ "

Stewart halted at the foot of the stairs, and for a moment the only noise in the basement was Connor's gentle snores. Then Stewart rounded on Roald, face unreadable. "Since-" He choked out, "Since _when_  do you raise your voice at me, Roald?"

Roald raised his chin, resisting his natural urge to grovel. "Since when am I claimed territory, Stewart?" His voice cracked on the last syllable, but if Stewart noticed the sign of weakness he didn't show it.

"Since-!" Stewart blustered, crossing his arms defensively in front of him. "They were being _forward_."

"W-why do _you_  care if a couple of sexually aggressive married men try to hit on me?!"

"Why are you questioning me all of a sudden?!"

"Because it has to do with me!" Roald voice rose to a shriek before he broke it off, furtively glancing at their sleeping companions. He crossed his arms, mirroring Stewart's stance. If not now, when? "Don't you wanna... talk about your feelings?"

"No." Stewart said instantly. Roald stared at him and he stared back, defiant for about five seconds. Stewart dropped his arms and his gaze, cowed. "...Kind of."

Roald, heart thundering, took a few steps closer to the base of the stairs. His arms tightened around himself. "Do you... like me?"

"We are not _children_ , Roald." Stewart muttered, glancing at his approach out of the corner of his eye. "I like you well enough."

Roald fought to keep his face neutral, smothering the growing grin as he stepped closer. "Are you attracted to me?"

Stewart's sudden expression of terror was a delight to see. His eyes darted frantically around the room. "I... I am not _immune_  to your... various... charms." He finally looked up at Roald standing in front of him, wary but almost... hopeful. "Do you... do you like _me?_ "

Roald made a face.

Stewart winced. "Was that a stupid question?"

"Uh, yes." Roald said, grinning, and would have laughed out loud if Stewart hadn't finally reached forward, cupped the back of his neck with one hand, and pulled him in for a kiss.

It was softer than Roald had dreamed about, but just as hesitant as Stewart looked. Roald let himself melt into it, clinging to the front of Stewart's undershirt like a lifeline.

When Stewart finally pulled back, Roald's fuzzy brain focused just enough to see Stewart staring down at him and feel Stewart's heart beating hard under his hand. "Cool." Roald breathed.

"Cool," Stewart echoed, sounding equally dazed.

Roald's grip was still fixed on Stewart's shirt, Stewart's fingers brushing lightly over the nape of Roald's neck before Stewart reached down, taking one of Roald's hands in his own and turning, tugging Roald up the stairs behind him.

"Stewart!" Roald gasped, coming back to his senses, "Wait- where are we going?"

"Unless you object," Stewart said firmly, "to my bedroom."

Roald's face threatened to split with the force of his smile. "No objections."

Stewart's hand just squeezed his in response.

(And, as it turned out, getting fucked on an actual bed was awesome.)

**Author's Note:**

> and then Devon comes back and all three of them date each other and it rules.


End file.
